Mile High with a Vampire by Lynsay Sands
Seventeen
Jet woke up slowly, grimacing at a serious case of dry mouth. Moving his tongue around to try to work up some saliva, he opened his eyes and stared blankly at the pale blue room he was in. It took him a moment to recall where he was and what had happened. Glancing around sharply, he spotted Quinn asleep, slouched in a chair next to the bed, and relaxed with a sigh.
His gaze slid over her slowly, drinking her in, and then he looked down at himself. He was no longer chained to the bed, which was a relief. And the pain had finally ended. At least the worst of it. He wasn’t one hundred percent, though; he felt achy and dried out, as if recovering from a flu. He needed water, and peered hopefully toward the bedside table, relieved when he spotted the glass of water there. Easing up onto one elbow, he leaned over and grabbed the glass, then brought it to his mouth to drink. The liquid was room temperature, but it did the trick, or at least half of it. It wet his mouth and throat as he gulped it quickly down, but it didn’t do much for the rest of his body. His skin felt like it was crying out for moisture too, he thought grimly as he set the glass back on the bedside table.
“You’re awake.”
Jet turned to see Quinn getting up from the chair, blinking sleep from her eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Dry and achy,” he admitted.
“You need blood,” she said, and moved around to retrieve a bag from the small refrigerator in the bedside table. She pulled out three, then paused briefly before pulling out three more.
Settling on the bed next to him, she smiled faintly. “We have to get your fangs to drop.”
“Right, fangs,” he murmured, and ran his tongue over his top teeth curiously. They didn’t feel any different, he thought, and then gave a start when something appeared in front of his face.
“What—?” he began, glancing down his nose to see what it was just as her finger came into focus with a spot of blood on the tip. The moment he got a whiff of the blood, Jet felt a strange shifting take place in his upper jaw and something poked him in the tongue.
Fangs, he realized, running his tongue gingerly over his teeth again.
“Open up.”
Jet shifted his gaze to Quinn, and then reluctantly opened his mouth.
“Wider,” she instructed, and when he widened his jaws farther, she placed a bag of blood in his hand and thrust it up into his open mouth. He wasn’t sure if she’d actually impaled the bag on his fangs until he felt a strange cool sensation in his canines. Then he realized that was the blood being drawn into his system. But he didn’t taste it, so it wasn’t actually in his mouth as it had been when he’d had to suck at Quinn’s wrist. The memory made him grimace around the bag. Blood was not tasty to him. Or it hadn’t been; maybe that would be different now. He didn’t know, but it had been repulsive to him as he’d sucked at her wound. Only determination had kept him from tearing his mouth away and spitting it out.
“Hold that.”
His gaze shifted to Quinn as she removed her hand from his bag and slapped one of the remaining bags she’d collected to her own mouth. Jet stared at her silently as they waited for the bags to empty, and had to think feeding was kind of annoying. He had questions, but couldn’t ask them. At least while eating real food you could stop between bites to ask questions, and speak. Although it was a surprisingly swift procedure, all things considered, he decided a moment later when Quinn ripped her own bag off her fangs and he glanced down to see that his bag was empty too.
Quinn took the empty bag from him when he tugged it off his fangs, and gave him a full one. “You try. Just pop it up firmly and hold it in place. But don’t be too firm or the bag might rip,” she warned.
Nodding, Jet popped the bag up and onto his fangs, relieved and pleased with himself when he managed it without making a mess. It wasn’t until this bag was empty that he was able to ask, “How long?”
Quinn didn’t need him to clarify the question and said, “You’ve been unconscious for a little more than twenty-four hours. But when the others left they said even though you would probably wake up soon, the actual turn wouldn’t be over for a while and you can expect to need a lot of blood for the next few weeks while the nanos complete their work. So.” She gestured to the bag of blood in his hand, and urged, “Get it down. You have three more bags after that one, then you can shower and change and we’ll go find you some food. You must be starved.”
He was actually, Jet thought as he popped the bag to his mouth. And he would definitely enjoy a shower and change of clothes, he decided as her words made him aware of the fact that his clothes appeared to be soaked with the same shiny slime that was coating his skin. It was pretty gross.
“Do you remember anything?” Quinn asked with concern as she took that bag when it emptied and handed him another.
Jet popped the new bag to his mouth and merely shook his head rather than lie outright. He remembered everything. At least he thought he remembered everything. If not, he remembered a hell of a lot. Mostly it had been just flat-out agony. It had felt like someone had dropped napalm on him, or injected him with it. He remembered screaming and struggling, trying to grab and claw at his skin, but unable to because of both the chains and the people half lying on him trying to keep him from breaking the chains. That had seemed to go on forever before he’d finally passed out, but the pain and burning had followed him into unconsciousness and he’d had nightmares full of blood and flames. He wasn’t telling Quinn that. He suspected she’d feel responsible and he already felt bad for her having to rip her arm open to turn him.
That must have hurt like a bitch too, he thought grimly. Certainly, Quinn’s reaction had suggested it did. Actually, her reaction had surprised him. He supposed he’d expected that her being a doctor would make her more stoic when it came to pain. And to be fair, she certainly hadn’t cried and carried on when she’d hurt herself on the log she’d broken in half. Not that she’d cried after ripping her wrist open, but man, had she howled, and he wondered if it was something to do with shock.
“Next.”
The word made him realize that the bag at his fangs was empty and she was holding out another. He switched them automatically, finding it easier each time as he gained confidence. Once he was on the last bag, Quinn stood and disappeared into the bathroom. He was just ripping the last bag off when she returned.
“I started the shower for you so it would warm up. Can you walk?”
Jet sat up and swung his legs off the bed, then stood, surprised when the room swayed a bit. Quinn was immediately at his side, slipping her arm around him for support. She helped him to the bathroom and even helped him strip and step into the shower. When she started to slip away then, he caught her arm.
“You might as well join me. You got whatever this gunk on me is all down your side helping me in here. Besides, you wouldn’t want me to slip and fall.” Jet was pretty sure he wasn’t going to slip and fall. The first shakiness when he’d got up had passed quickly and he was feeling fine. Better than fine actually, he thought as his gaze roved down her body.
Quinn hesitated briefly, but when she nodded, and then began to strip her clothes off, Jet grabbed the bar of soap from the shelf and quickly began to clean himself off. He felt like he’d been dipped in a vat of bacon grease or something, and he smelled too.
He was rinsing off when Quinn stepped into the shower, and Jet immediately caught her hand and pulled her under the spray with him. He caught her gasp of surprise with his mouth as he kissed her, and then he began running the soap down her body as he pressed her up against the wall and ground himself against her.
“Feeling better?” she gasped with amusement when he broke their kiss a minute later to step back and begin running the soap over and around her breasts, leaving a trail of lather.
“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, setting the soap aside and using his hands to spread the lather around, before simply stopping to knead her small, perfect breasts.
When Quinn moaned, her head tipping back against the wall, he bent his head and kissed her again, and then nipped at her lower lip when her hand found his erection and squeezed encouragingly.
“Witch,” he muttered into her mouth, unable to keep his hips from bucking to thrust him into the caress.
Quinn laughed breathlessly, and then groaned when one of his hands slid down across her stomach and between her legs. She kissed him almost desperately as he caressed her, and then broke away to gasp, “We should rinse off and move to the bed. If we pass out in here—” She stopped on an excited cry as he thrust one finger into her, but she didn’t have to finish what she’d said. He understood, and knew she was right. But goddamn, this felt so good he almost couldn’t stop. But finally, he covered her mouth with his and spun them both under the shower to let the water rinse them. Then he caught her at the waist and carried her out of the shower.
Quinn wrapped her legs around his hips rather than dangle in front of him, and Jet stopped with a groan as they rubbed against each other. Then he raised her a little higher until his cock wasn’t trapped between them anymore and he could lower her onto it.
They both cried out as he filled her and for a minute Jet thought he was going to blow his load right then she was so hot and tight around him, but Quinn dug her nails into his shoulders and broke their kiss to gasp, “Bed.”
Grunting, he started walking again, but the movement just increased the friction and the accompanying excitement. They didn’t make it to the bed, but at least the bedroom carpet offered a softer landing than the shower would have.
“Would you care for drinks while you peruse the menu? Wine, perhaps?”
Quinn glanced up from the menu she’d been pretending to read, and managed a nervous smile for the waiter, but shook her head. “Water for me, please.”
Nodding, he turned to Jet. “And you, sir?”
“What do you have that’s cold but nonalcoholic?” Jet asked.
Quinn turned to glance around the restaurant as the waiter began listing beverages. She couldn’t see any immortals around that she knew, but there was supposed to be a couple there who were police officers from Port Henry, and her gaze slid quickly over the other diners, trying to spot them. The officers were a couple and had driven up today to Toronto to help with this situation, driving straight to the restaurant rather than risk anyone seeing them entering the Enforcer house. The hope was they wouldn’t be recognized as connected to the Enforcers. Lucian had apparently given them the particulars over the phone, and texted a photo of Yun Xiang and Ziying Liang. But this couple, Teddy and Kat, as Marguerite had called them, were only one of the precautions Lucian had taken. The restaurant itself was owned by an immortal couple related to both Marguerite and Sam. The wife, Alex, was the chef and Sam’s sister. The husband, Cale, was a nephew of Marguerite’s. He helped run his wife’s restaurants, but also had his own businesses. They were apparently on the alert and ready to help as well if anything happened in the restaurant. But there was a lot more help out on the streets. Lucian had Enforcers situated all over the place from what she’d been told, some in other restaurants, cafés, or bars, seated where they could watch for her and Jet to leave this restaurant. Others were in vehicles in the parking lot, as well as on this road, and others nearby where they could be called in.
She had to hand it to the guy, Lucian Argeneau sure knew how to organize people, Quinn thought as she turned back to the table. Jet had only woken up six hours ago. Well, the first time. It had apparently been half an hour after they passed out on the bedroom floor that knocking at the door had woken them up. While Quinn had hid in the bathroom, Jet had wrapped a towel around his waist and answered the door. It had been Sam. Lucian had sent her to tell them to come downstairs now that Jet was through the worst of the turn. He had a plan, and wanted to put it in motion that night.
While Jet had showered again and dressed, Quinn had scampered back to her room in a borrowed towel, and quickly showered and then dressed herself. They’d met in the hall and made their way downstairs, both wondering aloud what Lucian’s plan was.
This was it. The premise was that Jet had brought her out for a romantic dinner at a fine restaurant. Lucian expected that either Yun would approach her to tell her he was her life mate, or Ziying would try to kill her. Either way, Lucian hoped to catch one of them.
“You look beautiful.”
Quinn glanced up from the menu, and smiled weakly at Jet’s compliment. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”
Jet smiled crookedly at her return compliment. “Even with red and watery eyes?”
“They aren’t—” Her words stopped as her gaze shifted to his pedestrian brown eyes rather than the gorgeous silver and teal they now were, or even the stunning teal they had been when he was mortal. The color was the result of colored contacts meant to hide the silver that would give away that he was no longer mortal. Lucian was positive that the men trying to kill her must have realized Jet was mortal after tracking them at the mall as they had. He thought hiding the fact that Jet had been turned would be a good ace in the hole, so had insisted on his wearing the contacts. But immortals didn’t wear contacts well. The nanos saw them as a foreign body and tried to force them out of the eye, just as they were trying to do with Jet. He kept having to push them more firmly back into his eyes, and between that and the nanos, his eyes were painfully bloodshot.
“Does it hurt much?” she asked with concern as he pushed on his eyes again.
“Not as much as the turn,” he muttered. “I’ll live.”
Quinn stiffened, concern claiming her at once. “I thought you didn’t remember the turn?”
Jet stilled, and then grimaced and waved away her concern. “It’s coming back—just bits and pieces, though. It’s fine. It’s all done. I survived and it’s all good.”
Quinn was silent for a minute, watching him, and then suggested, “Maybe you should go to the men’s room and splash some water in your eyes. It might help.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, starting to rise, and then stopped abruptly and settled back in his seat. “I’m not leaving you alone till this is over.”
Quinn frowned, but then stood herself. “Well, I have to go to the bathroom. So, you can either come along and stand outside the door, or take the opportunity to slip into the men’s room and take care of your eyes.”
She didn’t wait for his answer, but heard his soft curse and the scrape of his chair sliding back from the table as he followed her. Quinn didn’t look back until they’d entered the small hall where the restrooms were. Stopping at the ladies’ room door, she glanced back and said, “Go splash water on your eyes. I promise not to leave the ladies’ room until you knock on the door to let me know you’re out of the men’s room.”
When he sighed and nodded, Quinn smiled and then slid into the ladies’ room. She didn’t really have to go, so she took a moment to check herself in the mirror. Her hair was up in a loose chignon, her only makeup was a deep red lipstick Sam had insisted on putting on her, and she was wearing one of the new dresses Francis had picked for her, a short, black mini cocktail dress with a V-neck. It hugged her upper body, but flared out around her hips. It was fun and flirty and yet sexy too, she thought.
Jet had certainly seemed to appreciate it if his expression as he’d watched her walk down the stairs at the Enforcer house was anything to go by. She suspected if everyone else hadn’t been standing around the entry waiting to leave, he might have grabbed her hand and dragged her back up to his room.
Smiling faintly at the thought, she peered at herself, trying to see what he saw. It had been a long time since she’d really looked at herself. She hadn’t done so since right after the turn when she’d examined all the changes to her body and face. Quinn had been thirty-six when she was turned, a young professional. Well, relatively young. So okay, she’d had crow’s-feet at her eyes, and those indentations around her mouth, as well as a few gray hairs on her head. Just a few, though. Still, she’d looked her age, or maybe a little older thanks to the stress of her job.
After the turn she’d been like a shiny new penny. Like she was now. She didn’t have crow’s-feet anymore or indentations. Her skin was flawless and dewy, and there wasn’t a gray hair on her head. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five, and rather than appreciate that at the time, she’d been furious. Because it was the reason they’d made it look like she was dead and forced her to leave behind her job, her home, her parents, her town even.
But now she recalled the look on Jet’s face as his gaze had skated over her body—the desire and fire, and the way the silver had flared to fill his beautiful teal eyes—and she didn’t mind looking the way she did. And if what Marguerite and the others said about life mates was true, he would always look at her the way he had, and would always want her.
Maybe Patrick’s turning her hadn’t been such a bad thing. Maybe she’d just been looking at it wrong. Sure, she’d had to give up her career and home, but she’d read somewhere that the average human changed their career three times in their life. Besides, it wasn’t like she couldn’t work in her field at all. She could be a general surgeon, or even train to be a neurosurgeon or something else if she wanted.
Or maybe she’d get out of the medical field for a while. Her career had eaten into her family time more than it should have. In fact, she’d enjoyed that aspect of the last four years, getting to spend more time with Parker. But now, with Jet in her life too, she was definitely thinking she wanted a career that was a little less taxing. Or maybe she should even hold off on a career until they got past the new life mate stage where they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She and Patrick had made and saved a lot of money between them, and investments had only increased that. She could afford to take a little more time off to get to know Jet better, and spend time with her son before he got too old to want to spend time with her. Her options were really pretty much wide open. She apparently had a lot of time ahead of her if she wasn’t murdered by the Brass Circle.
A tap sounded at the door. Quinn winked at her reflection, and then walked over to open it. She smiled when she saw Jet on the other side, but her smile faded when she saw his expression. When he started to fall on her, she caught him around the upper chest just under the arms as he crashed to his knees, and then she stared at the Asian man behind him with a dart gun in his hand. Ziying Liang, the second man in the photos. The one who had set the bombs in the plane and was apparently trying to kill her.
“Pick him up.”
Concentrating on keeping her thoughts blank, Quinn shifted Jet and hefted him over her shoulder. Once she’d turned to Ziying, he gestured with the dart gun for her to step out of the restroom, and then nodded down the hall toward the emergency exit sign above a door there.
Quinn hesitated, but didn’t see much choice here. Not wanting Ziying to read the thoughts in her mind, she tried not to think of the Enforcers stationed in the parking lot, and the road. But couldn’t help the brief thought that she hoped to God they were paying attention, and that one of them saw the situation as she carried Jet to the back of the building and then out through the emergency door.
“The van.”
Quinn glanced around until she spotted the van almost in the corner of the parking lot. It was white, its side door already open and waiting. She walked silently to it, and started to climb in with Jet, but paused with one foot in and one out when she saw that there was a side door on the other side of the vehicle. It was wide open too, as was the side door of what looked like a black van parked next to this one.
“On your knees and get moving,” the man behind her ordered, pressing the dart gun against her back.
Quinn’s arms tightened around Jet, but she retrieved her foot and shifted one knee inside, then her other, and crossed the width of the van on her knees as Ziying got in and closed the door.
“Keep going,” her kidnapper said when she hesitated at the second door, and then he snapped, “Quickly.”
Quinn crossed from one van to the next on her knees, and then gasped when she was suddenly pushed and sent sprawling with Jet still over her shoulder. Releasing him, she rolled onto her side and watched warily as Ziying followed her inside and quickly closed the side door of the white van. He then slid the door of the van they were in shut too, before turning to look out the window into the next van with concentration.
Quinn heard an engine start, and then Ziying crouched down until he was almost out of view as the sound of the engine began to move away. The white van was leaving. At least that’s what she thought was happening. She couldn’t actually see the van, not even the top of it; the windows of this van were as black as the outside had been. In fact, Quinn wasn’t sure why Ziying was bothering to stay out of sight. She was sure no one could see him from outside, unless he was concerned that the metallic flecks in his eyes might be seen through the covering on the windows. She supposed that was possible. They did tend to glow in the dark and it was dark in the back of this van.
Ziying turned to her suddenly, and Quinn’s speculation died as she waited warily and acknowledged she might be in a fix here. The two-van thing was really quite clever and she was a bit worried that Lucian’s men may have fallen for it and would now follow the white van, completely unaware that she and Jet were in the black van that had been parked next to it.
“They are following the white van,” Ziying announced with a tight little smile. “Ma Yuan will be surprised to find Lucian Argeneau is so easily tricked and will praise us for this venture.”
“Who is she?” Quinn asked, starting to ease up into a sitting position, but freezing half upright when rage poured over the man’s face.
“He is our leader and the head of the Brass Circle,” Ziying said coldly.
“I meant no offense,” she murmured warily. “I thought Ma was a nickname like Ma Kettle or something.”
“You have been too long away from China,” he growled with disgust. “Ma is his family name. It means horse. Yuan means silver.”
“So, he’s Silver Horse.” She nodded, thinking that Yuan Ma probably had silver in his eyes like the Argeneaus.
“He does,” Ziying said, proving he was monitoring her thoughts. “But it is Ma Yuan, not Yuan Ma. Do not dishonor him by turning his name around.”
“I didn’t mean to dishonor him. In America the given name comes first while the family name is second. It is just natural for me to put them in that order.”
“Then do not even think his name,” he snapped.
Quinn shrugged, not really caring one way or another. She was more concerned about Jet right then, and her gaze slid to him now.
“Do not worry for your mortal lover. He is as good as dead already. The strength of the drugs needed to incapacitate an immortal are deadly to a mortal. I am surprised his heart has not already stopped.”
Lover, lover, lover, Quinn thought over and over in an attempt not to think about the fact that Jet wasn’t mortal anymore. That ace in the hole might very well save them, after all . . . if he woke up from the effects of the drug in time. But that was something she was trying not to think about, and really struggling with it. She turned an anxious gaze to Ziying, only to see that he had moved up between the two front seats and was talking to someone in the driver’s seat. Even as she noted that, the two men switched places, the driver slipping out of the seat and taking the dart gun as Ziying slid past him to take the driver’s seat.
Quinn inhaled sharply when she recognized the man now moving toward her as Yun Xiang. She tensed, waiting for the screaming to start in her head, because her last session with Mary had made her realize the screaming she’d heard when she’d first seen him had been a scrap of memory from the night her family had been slaughtered, not reality. But this time it didn’t come. Thinking that must be a good sign, she let her breath out slowly and watched with conflicting emotions as he approached. Part of her was furious and full of loathing for the monster who had led the gang that had tortured and killed her stepfather, mother, and cousin. But the other part was relieved. He was a possible life mate to her, so presumably wouldn’t be able to stand by and watch her be murdered. At least not if what Marguerite and the others said was true.
She’d barely had that thought when he raised the dart gun and shot her. Quinn blinked in surprise, and then lowered her head to stare at the dart now sticking out of her chest as she slowly just sank back toward the floor. She was unconscious before she landed on it.
It seemed to Jet he woke up by increments. His mind was the first thing working and he became aware of smells, sounds, and movement around him, but couldn’t open his eyes or move anything. With no other choice, he lay still, trying to sort out where he was and what was happening. The last thing he recalled was leaving the men’s room and knocking on the ladies’ room door to let Quinn know he was ready to return to the table when she was. He’d been about to move to the wall next to the door and lean there while he waited for her when someone had punched him in the back. At least that’s what it had felt like.
Jet had tried to turn to see what had happened, but he couldn’t; his muscles wouldn’t listen to him. In fact, he’d started to sway on suddenly shaky legs when the ladies’ room door had opened and Quinn appeared. The last thing he recalled was her smiling at him before he’d fallen forward toward her. Now he was lying on a hard surface, his body bent almost in half and his ear and cheek against cold metal that felt almost like it was vibrating a bit. The only sound he could hear was the drone of an engine.
He tried to open his eyes again, and was relieved when this time they flickered, opening just a little and then closing again. It wasn’t much, but it was better than not being able to open them at all. It also gave him hope that whatever had caused his paralysis, or whatever this was, was fading. He waited another moment, just listening, and then tried again to open his eyes. Instinct had him only trying to open them to slits. He managed the feat and took in what he could of his surroundings.
He was lying in the back of what looked to him to be a van, and Quinn was lying next to him, a dart in her chest. Mouth tightening, he tried to look toward the front of the vehicle to see whether it was Ziying Liang or Yun Xiang who had them, but his head wouldn’t move.
Yet, he told himself, and then stopped thinking and concentrated on listening as the van slowed. His body slid toward one wall a bit as they turned a corner and then they were bumping over some extremely uneven ground, or a pothole-ridden driveway. A long driveway, he thought after a couple of moments, or maybe a really bad country road. And then the van stopped and he heard doors open. Jet closed his eyes just before he heard the side door slide open and someone say, “Grab the mortal and bring him inside.”
“Why? He’s dead, or soon will be.”
“Because I want her to see him. His loss will add to her pain as we torture her,” the first man said. “And she should suffer for what she did to Qing.”
Jet wasn’t sure if his face could make expressions yet, but concentrated on ensuring it didn’t as someone grabbed his arm and dragged him across the ribbed floor of the van, then hefted him over their shoulder with a grunt.